"You stand in for Fast of Wing," Tracker told him. "His revenge rides on you."

"I see," Brooks replied. "So if I were to somehow fail, Fast of Wing will never be happy."

"Yes. What is more, his father's spirit, full of anger and rage at being killed before his time, will possess you during the hunt. Should you fail, his spirit will never leave you." He shook his head, a way of warding off spirits. "You do something that is impressive, but foolish."

Besides hunting a giant, deadly predator, Brooks thought, amused.

"Before his time?" he asked. The !A!amo had often spoken of everyone having a designated time to die. It was a coping tool, and to hear something go against it was surprising. "Isn't any time we die our time?"

"Not when it is keko!un. They are bad keotli, given form. Thus they break the natural cycle. Bad keotli." He shook his head again.

Brooks mulled over that. Was it just an idea given to a mortal enemy, to make them seem more monstrous and justify horrors against them? Or perhaps the keko!un were an invasive species, recently come here and upsetting the order that had existed before? It would explain why the !Xomyi seemed so helpless against them . . .

Tracker waved his hands, a sort of shrug. "And you have not even blooded a spear. You do not even have a spear."

"I might have time to try again to make one."

"No. There are other preparations." Tracker considered a moment. Then, he reached into a pouch, and took out a spearhead.

It was large, Brooks noticed immediately. And it was finely made; one of the best that he had seen. The shape was perfect, the edges chipped just right to give a serrated cutting edge to all sides.

And rather than flint, it was a dark black glass, whose every surface reflected the light - obsidian. He'd seen a few such obsidian pieces, but never this nice.

"Take this," Tracker said. "It is special to me. I have never found the time to use it."

Brooks took the spearhead carefully. He had never known the !A!amo to value an item, nearly all things seemed to be something they could throw aside and simply find or make anew. Aside from his scanner, which had quickly become a cherished item among the women, they rarely kept anything for more than a few months.

"This is special. What is the story behind this?" he asked.

Tracker waved it away. "A tale for another day. Take it, my friend. Strike hard. Strike true. The blade will bite deep, if you let it."

*******

Sitting at the edge of the clearing, Brooks had an excellent view of the sky as Bror set.

It was filled with color - reds, yellows, and oranges that were startlingly beautiful. Near the lower parts of the horizon, some even skewed green, due to the way their glow traveled through the atmosphere.

Small lines of light streaked across the colors regularly, sometimes swarms of them.

But despite their beauty, both were portents of coming catastrophe. They both originated from the same source; the moon Omen.

The glows were from dust, floating in space, heating up from the light of Bror. The streaks were meteors, burning.

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Soon, he knew, the meteors would be larger. Large enough that they would not simply burn up, but would instead hit the land, causing massive craters, seismic activity, and fires. In Ko's denser atmosphere, with higher oxygen content, the fires would start even more easily, and would burn hotter and for longer.

By that point, escape would be difficult. The amount of debris coming down and in orbit would make their planned course incredibly dangerous - and that was if they were lucky and nothing hit near enough that it wrecked their ship.

He knew that their escape shuttle had already been dropped in. They would not be heading back to Outpost Alexa. Soon, they'd be evacuating it, too.

He tried to put these thoughts out of his head.

The fire near his feet cracked and popped, protesting against the damp wood he'd used to start it.

Taking up the spear shaft that he'd prepared earlier, he experimentally fitted the obsidian spear head into it.

It was a good fit, more due to how expertly it had been made than his own skill at working the wood.

But it would not be enough to just stick it in.

He looked to the fire, where he had a small shard of a bowl sitting. He smiled, remembering. This was a piece of the one they'd given him as a joke, months ago.

He used it now to melt a piece of hardened sap.

Knows the World had shown him one day; which trees could be cut in just the right way to bleed them for their sticky sap. It dried into hard pieces, but they would melt when heated over a fire.

Mixing in some fibers would give it strength, and then wrapping it with cordage made from the same fibers, woven into a strand, would hold the spear head onto the shaft.

Taking a stick, he smeared the sap onto the end of the obsidian spear head, nestling it into the crook of the shaft.

He smeared more around it, hoping he wasn't going too heavily on it.

Y had told him a week ago that this sap had very impressive binding qualities, better than similar substances early humans had used. The doctor had gotten Kai to take scans of it to send up to the Craton, for future materials research studies.

The blade seemed well-set, and he took the cordage that he'd been given by one of the women, and started wrapping it around the base of the blade. The cords squeezed into the sap, becoming glued in just as much as the blade itself.

So much effort into all of this, he thought, as he finished wrapping the cord and tied it off.

Gathering the stone, gathering the sap, the pole, the grass for cordage. Even the clay for the potsherd and the wood for his fire.

Then making the blade, a many-hour process, if not days. Working the pole into a proper spear shaft and notching it. The hours the women spent turning the fibers into cords. Now, all of their labor created this weapon.

Just a stone spear, he thought. It was beautiful in its way, but it reminded him how much effort went into everything he took for granted. So much was done by machine, so many thousands or millions of hours of labor went into even the simplest device or tool he used . . .

A hint of movement caught his attention, and he looked over, seeing that Knows the World was nearby.

"Hello," he said.

While relations with the others had improved greatly since he had saved Touched by Fire, that had not been true of Knows the World.

The wise man had not been hostile; only distant. Brooks often noticed him watching, and while he had tried to engage the elder in conversation many times, Knows the World had always left quickly.

Brooks knew that Knows the World would be key to convincing the tribe to come with him. They trusted Brooks, yes, but if Knows the World took a different stance, then most of the !A!amo would not go.

It was almost as if Knows the World knew this, and was intentionally avoiding the conversation.

"I come to tell you of the blood hunt," Knows the World said. "You do not know our ways."

"Thank you," Brooks replied.

"We hunt in the night," Knows the World began. He paused, as if waiting for a response, and so Brooks ventured a question.

"Isn't that more dangerous? Shouldn't we hunt in the daylight?"

"The keko!un like the light," Knows the World said. "They sleep less deeply in the light, and so we are more likely to encounter them on the way."

"What of other dangers?" Brooks asked.

Knows the World folded his wings over himself to show an end to questioning.

"Prepare yourself," he said. "We leave once darkness falls."

It would not be long, Brooks thought. He thought they'd be going in the morning, but he could go sooner.

"Before you go," he said, knowing that Knows the World had already signaled the end of the conversation, but was desperate to try. "May we speak of something else?"

Knows the World looked surprised; Brooks's behavior bordered on rude.

The wise man said nothing, but turned and walked away.